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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28675929">This Is It, the Apocalypse</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyreWriter/pseuds/FyreWriter'>FyreWriter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Radioactive [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action &amp; Romance, Action/Adventure, Angst, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama &amp; Romance, Drug Use, Established Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, POV John Hancock (Fallout 4), wholesome smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:33:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,835</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28675929</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyreWriter/pseuds/FyreWriter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Erica and Hancock have declared war on the Institute... but the Brotherhood of Steel remains a threat. The finale to the Radioactive series.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>John Hancock/Female Sole Survivor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Radioactive [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1312232</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He lit a cigarette, clicking the lighter shut and replacing it in the pocket of his tattered red coat. Stretching his arms out, he reflected on how much wear and tear the coat had seen in the last several months–probably more than it had in the five hundred years or so since its original owner had worn it. Although it made him sad to consider it, he might have to replace it and move on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes drifted across the table to where his wife sat, her chair tipped back against the wall, tapping a fingernail against her teeth as she considered the proposal before her. The room was filled with familiar faces as all the members of their ragtag group of rebels met once again to address the problem of the Institute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is all well and good, Danse,” Erica said. “And I’ll consider this plan once we’re in, but it doesn’t solve the primary problem. The chip no longer functions. We have to figure out some other way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” MacCready said, “you didn’t have to shoot that Thompson guy. You coulda just let him take the scientist, and then we could have rescued him when we stormed the place.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That ain’t helpful, kid,” Hancock growled. “What’s done is done. Let’s just solve the fucking problem at hand.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erica sighed and dropped her chair legs to the ground, leaning forward across the table. “I’m not happy with the way things went down either, Bobby,” she snapped. “Yeah, I let my temper get the best of me. Can you blame me? I’m fucking tired. My kid grew up into a psychopath.” As she continued, her voice rose until she was practically yelling. “And for some reason, all of you have lived here your entire lives and yet you’re all looking to me to solve your goddamn Institute problem. So yeah–I fucked up. Fucking sue me. But keep in mind, before you do? I’m a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>lawyer</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready’s face darkened, and he opened his mouth with a retort ready. Before he could speak, however, Haylen reached over and placed her hand over his, a slight shake of her head all that was needed for him to snap his mouth shut and glare at the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Erica,” Haylen said, the calm voice of reason. “The situation was spiralling completely out of hand. Is there a single person here who can claim that every decision they made was considered carefully? Who never once acted in a way they later regretted?” Only silence met her question, and several of the faces glanced away, chagrined. “That’s what I thought. And I’m no different. We’ve all been through hell. Let’s just deal with the situation as it is now. We still have plenty more intel on the Institute than we had even a month ago.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sturges, have you had any luck with those tapes?” asked Hancock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a hell of a lot of content to dig through,” Sturges replied in his friendly drawl. “I’m doing my best, and Dr. Amari has been a huge help. Her equipment is allowing us to scan through it all much faster than I could have possibly done alone. But even so, the Institute has been producing data for over 200 years, and we gotta tease out what content belongs to the Institute and what belongs to the old CIT. They logged fucking everything, down to when they scrub the goddamn toilets. We’ll get there, I’m sure, but we just ain’t found the right file yet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erica nodded. “It’s a baffling amount of data, and part of me wonders if they produced so much on purpose for this exact reason, to confound anyone who tried to break in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds a little paranoid if you ask me,” Ham said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock’s eyes narrowed at the ghoul. “We’ve seen crazier shit than that by now. I don’t think we can discount any possibility.” Ham simply shrugged in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish there was a way we could gain access to Liberty Prime,” Danse said. “Maxson’s plan was always to march Prime over to the ruins of CIT and just blast our way inside.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a chance in hell,” Haylen said. “We both have shoot-on-sight orders on ourselves. You’re supposed to be dead. I’m an AWOL traitor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They have the robot and the weapons,” Sturges said. “What’s stopping them from just blasting on in right now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a damn good question,” Valentine said. The synth had been standing in the corner, silently smoking while everyone else argued. “And it’s one I’ve been asking myself. The Brotherhood have everything they need to go ahead and jump in where everyone else fears to tread. Why haven’t they? What are they up to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone was quiet for a moment, then Deacon spoke up. “Revenge.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Valentine nodded. “Exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock’s hairless brows went up as the corners of Erica’s mouth turned down. “What exactly do you mean?” he asked. “Revenge against who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spy sighed. “Everyone here, of course. Is there anyone here who isn’t currently an enemy of the Brotherhood in some way at this point?” As he looked around the room, heads began to slowly nod. It was obvious—the room was full of ghouls, synths, and ex-Brotherhood, and everyone else had supported them in some way. “Before Maxson thinks of destroying the Institute, his pride is going to have him planning an attack on each of you… and what better way to do that than to strike here, at Goodneighbor? Mayor, I hope you got some good security over the next few days. You can bet your ass that he’s heard or will hear soon that Erica can no longer get in and out of the Institute. That was the only thing keeping her safe from Maxson—she had the potential to be useful. Without that….” He trailed off, not needing to finish his sentence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like an idiot,” Danse said. “I… I thought I knew him, but that never even occurred to me. Would he really be that petty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you fucking dense, man?” MacCready asked. “The guy was ready to shoot you, his most loyal foot soldier, because it turned out you got a little piece of metal in your head!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The former Paladin sighed. “I admit, it’s still hard for me to think of him that way. You’re right.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock felt just as dense. The thought hadn’t occurred to him either. With so much on his plate, it was becoming damn near impossible to consider every possibility, and this one had slipped past him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just another failure, right John? No matter what you do, you’re always going to miss some important detail. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head to clear the internal taunting, he gestured to Ham. “Go tell Fahr to beef up security. I want everyone who is available manning the gates. Snipers on roofs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Need me up there, boss?” asked MacCready. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Hancock said. “We need you down here.” The sniper started to open his mouth. “I don’t want to hear it, kid. You’re part of the planning crew, and that’s where you’re staying for now. Besides… I ain’t sure your leg is fully healed yet, and we’re gonna need you at your best when we do finally get into the fucking Institute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready nodded as Haylen spoke up. “He’s almost there, Mayor. Maybe another week? Amari has been working with him to restore the strength in his legs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Preston, who had been sitting quietly next to Sturges taking in the conversation, spoke up. “I’m not sure we’ve got another week, especially if Maxson is likely to strike. I can call in Minutemen reinforcement, but we’ll need to be careful. If Maxson notices the Minutemen converging on Goodneighbor, he’ll know we suspect him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not necessarily,” Erica said. “He might just think we’ve figured out our way into the Institute and are ready for an assault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Either way though, it’s going to trigger him to attack,” Hancock said. “He doesn’t want our sloppy seconds. He’s already called first dibs on all the tech down there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erica’s face darkened. “And I’d prefer to blow the whole damn thing to bits.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Preston said, concern on his face. “You’re going to make sure you evacuate the synths, children, and other non-scientists, right? I’d like to keep deaths to a minimum.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely. Just like the fact that there are children on the Prydwen is the only reason why that ship is still in the air,” she replied before turning to Deacon. “Des told me about the Railroad’s plan to deal with the Brotherhood. How dare she ask me to kill children, Deacon? How fucking dare she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her intentions were to….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spy was cut off by a fuming Erica before he could get any further. “I don’t want to hear a fucking word about her intentions. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>result</span>
  </em>
  <span> would have been dead children!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room broke out into yelling and accusations, and several people jumped to their feet. It looked like the entire meeting was about to descend into anarchy, until John stood, quietly raised a pistol, and fired a shot into the ceiling. Silence suddenly descended on the room along with dust from the ancient wooden planks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough!” he roared. Eyes widened around the room. He knew full well that in his fury he cut a fierce figure, and he wasn’t afraid to use that to his advantage. “We ain’t getting nowhere fighting among ourselves,” he said, his voice returning to its usual low, gentle growl. “The Railroad’s option for dealing with the Brotherhood is off the table. Sorry, Deacon, your group has been neutered. I’ll fight back against the Brotherhood if and when we have to, but I ain’t firing the first shot. Erica’s right. There’s kids on board. Killing kids ain’t right and everyone in this room fucking knows it.” He glared at Deacon. “You and your leader know it too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deacon simply gave a single nod of his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ham, do as I asked,” Hancock continued. “Talk to Fahr privately, let her know what we discussed. The rest of you? Not a word to anybody who isn’t in this room. They’ll know we’re beefing up defense and that’s it. I still ain’t sure there ain’t a mole in town, and I’m not gonna risk it. Meeting’s adjourned for the night. We’ll reconvene tomorrow and figure out the next plan of action. General Garvey… a word before you leave?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Minuteman nodded his head, and the rest of the people in the room quietly filed out, several—including MacCready, Haylen, and Danse—heading directly to the bar to have a drink. Sturges kissed Preston’s cheek, whispered into his ear and squeezed his shoulder before leaving. Valentine lit a cigarette as he walked out, nodding to Hancock and Erica, and Deacon slipped out silently, his face grim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When only Erica and Preston remained, Hancock finally spoke. “Like I said, I ain’t firing the first shot, but I also ain’t sitting back and letting that fucking fascist flatten my town. I need you to contact your settlements, discreetly, and have their artillery ready. I don’t know if you got any Brotherhood loyalists in your settlements, but if you do, you need to root them out and silence them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John!” Erica looked distraught.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took her hand and squeezed it. “I said ‘silence,’ Sunshine. Not kill.” He turned back to Preston. “Give ‘em some junk detail, send ‘em with goods to other Settlements so they’re stuck on the road, I don’t care. Your leaders are smart, they know their people and know who to keep an eye on and who to get rid of for the time being.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the coastal settlements that tend to have Brotherhood loyalists in them,” Preston said. “Maxson has been sending down units to strike up trade arrangements with the settlements closest to the airport.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re allowing that?” Hancock said, incredulous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a general,” Preston said, “Not a king, John. Each settlement is autonomous and free to make their own decisions. Besides, forbidding them to deal with the Brotherhood would have put Maxson on alert a long time ago.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock sighed and nodded his head, understanding. “Gotcha.” Preston had grown into a smart and strong leader, and Hancock was glad to see it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Preston lit a cigarette and offered the pack to both Erica and Hancock, who both took one. “Listen, I’m not saying the coastal settlements are Brotherhood settlements. The leaders are loyal to the Minutemen and will follow orders when needed. They’re just the most likely to have people who aspire to join the Brotherhood or are friendly with them. That’s Warwick, Nordhagen, and Croup Manor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about the Lighthouse and the Cottage?” Erica asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “They don’t seem to be. The Cottage is too far north, and even though the Lighthouse and the Manor are pretty close to each other, there’s some sort of bullshit argument going on, so they’re doing most of their trading with Finch Farm and the Slog.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Lighthouse trades with the Slog instead of the Manor?” Hancock said, brows raised. “Guessing that whatever that argument is between them has to do with ghouls?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Preston sighed. “Yes, as a matter of fact. When we first took the Manor, it was filled with ferals, even a glowing one. There seems to a be a bit of… residual fear there now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock frowned. “We’ll deal with that later, I suppose. In the meantime…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely. I’ll fire up the radio as soon as I leave, start getting the word out.” He yawned and stretched his long arms. “Anything else, Mayor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” Hancock said. “Get some rest.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Minuteman stood up and tipped his hat to both of them before heading out and up the stairs to the streets above. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock stood as well, offering an arm to Erica. “Ready to call it a night?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled, her eyes tired, the lines around them more prominent than ever. He couldn’t help thinking how beautiful she was. “Absolutely. Lots of work to do tomorrow.” Arm in arm, they slowly ascended the stairs and headed to their home in the State House.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hancock paced back and forth in his office, smoking too many cigarettes and huffing too much Jet. Again. Sturges and Amari still hadn’t solved the mystery of the Institute’s “back door,” and while Preston had reported that the Brotherhood loyalists had indeed been sent on grunt missions, that couldn’t last forever, and there had been no movement as of yet from the Brotherhood. It all contributed to an uncomfortable anxious feeling that no amount of chems, booze, or cigarettes could seem to quell, no matter how hard he tried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erica had been feeling the same stress and anxiety, and it was obvious in the bags beneath her eyes and her jumpiness. They’d squabbled yesterday, something they rarely did, and now they were walking on eggshells around each other, each trying not to set the other off, and the strained silence was somehow worse than the squabble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was currently sitting on his couch, reading through yet another useless report, smoking a cigarette herself. Her eyes occasionally raised from the page she was studying to him as he paced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could you stop that?” she finally asked. “Please? You’re driving me up a fucking wall.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I should just leave,” he muttered as he flopped down on the other couch opposite her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you should,” she replied under her breath. Clearly the squabble wasn’t over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look,” he began, “just because you haven’t….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately for him, a knock on the door interrupted them before he could really get himself in trouble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” he snarled, relieved to have another target to vent at, someone who wasn’t his wife, his Sunshine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door creaked open slightly and MacCready stuck his head in. “Am I interrupting?” he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Erica said. “Thank God. Come in.” She set the report aside and patted the sofa cushion next to her. Hancock felt a flare of jealousy, but did his best to ignore it, knowing even as he felt its heat that it was completely ridiculous. He and Erica were fine—things were just… rough… at the moment. It was understandable, after all. Nobody could put up with this level of uncertainty for any length of time without snapping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As MacCready walked across the room, Hancock observed that the sniper’s limp was now barely noticeable. Amari really did do incredible work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look like you’re ready for action,” Hancock said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, just about,” MacCready said with a grin as he cautiously lowered himself down next to Erica. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock sighed. “Wish I had some for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know what you mean,” MacCready replied. “It’s quiet. Too quiet.” He chuckled. “I’ve always wanted to say that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock and Erica rolled their eyes almost in perfect sync, although with Hancock’s obsidian eyes, it was nearly impossible to tell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re such a fucking comedian,” Hancock said, his voice dry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Haylen appreciates it,” MacCready said, putting on a wounded face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haylen is ex-Brotherhood,” Erica replied, her voice light. “Her life choices are questionable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock couldn’t help but laugh as he lit yet another cigarette, grateful to his Sunshine for lightening the mood. “So why you here, kid? Just trying to show off your new legs?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, nothing like that,” MacCready replied, stretching out said legs and plunking his boots down on the coffee table in front of him, kicking an empty Jet canister to the side. “I got a proposal, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” Hancock said. “I’m all ears.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready snickered. “Well, not exactly,” he said, gesturing toward the damaged flesh that had once been the external portion of Hancock’s ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t push it,” Hancock growled, his tone good-natured yet still containing a warning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, boss. Anyway, I’ve been chatting with Fahr, Haylen, and Preston, but wanted to run this by you before we actually did anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock waved his hand for the sniper to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know when it comes to the Brotherhood you don’t want to fire the first shot, and I’m not suggesting that. You’re right. But I think we’re all going stir crazy here, just waiting for something to happen. Who knows how long it’ll take Amari and Sturges to dig through that damn code—or if the information we need is even there—and why should we give Maxson the opportunity to have an advantage on us or get the drop? Take us by surprise? What if we can somehow infiltrate them? Get some idea of what he’s thinking, what he has planned? We’re all in the dark right now, and it’s not doing anyone any good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock sighed. “The thought has crossed my mind, but I just don’t see a way to make it work. How’re we gonna find anyone we can trust enough to send in there who Maxson either won’t suspect or who we can afford to lose?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gotta talk to Preston,” MacCready said, lighting his own cigarette. “Man’s full of ideas. He knows a bunch of Minutemen folks who are chomping at the bit to take down both the Brotherhood and the Institute. He trusts them, and they all understand that these could be suicide missions.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So why are you here instead of Preston?” Hancock asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were just shooting the shit, you know?” MacCready exhaled smoke, which slowly drifted upward to join the haze that already existed near the ceiling. “I don’t think he was seriously making suggestions; we were all just tossing out ideas. But I thought it was a really good one and I didn’t think he’d come to you with it. I wanted to make sure you heard it so you could consider all of your options.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock slowly nodded. “It ain’t a bad idea, and I’m with you. I gotta do something. This waiting is driving me up the fucking wall.” He stood up and walked around behind Erica, then rested his hands on her shoulders. “I’m fighting with my Sunshine here, and I hate that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She placed her own hand over one of his. “I’m sorry, love. I know I’m not exactly helping matters.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ain’t your fault. We’re all on edge.” He took a deep breath. “Alright. Let’s go talk to Preston. It’s the only thing we got right now, and it’s better than sitting up here and getting high. Well, marginally better.” He grabbed his tricorn off the desk and plunked it on his head. Erica stood, stretched, and shrugged into a jacket, then held out a hand to help MacCready up. Hancock couldn’t help but observe that the sniper was still a touch slow getting to his feet. It worried him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them started for the door, but then paused at the sound of heavy footsteps apparently racing up the spiral staircase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell?” Erica murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly the door burst open and Preston and Sturges all but fell inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mayor!” Sturges said, breathless. “We got it! We finally broke though!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock felt his breath catch in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Preston spoke. “We have the entrance to the Institute. It’s time.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The room erupted into noise as everyone tried to speak at once. Finally, Hancock’s rough voice broke out above the racket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddammit, everyone shut the fuck up for a moment!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence descended, and he cleared his throat, trying to hide his small, satisfied smile. It was nice when people did what you said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, one thing at a time,” he said, in a much lower voice. “Preston? Where’s the entrance.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Underwater,” the Minuteman replied. “In the river. Just south of CIT.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock looked nonplussed. “You gotta be shitting me. It was right there the whole fucking time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sturges spoke up. “Well, yeah, but it ain’t like people are out having leisurely swims these days. No wonder it stayed hidden so long.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock grinned. “Maybe people like you can’t go swimming, but I sure as hell could have.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erica rolled her eyes with a small smile. “Love, I have never seen you go for a swim.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, no. It’s cold out. But the point is, I could have!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what are we waiting for?” MacCready broke in. “Let’s gather the troops and storm the place!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, slow down,” said Preston. “It’s not going to be quite that easy. First off, like we said, it’s underwater. We’ve got to get to it first. I don’t know how deep or how far back it is, so we need a safe way to get in. Without anyone drowning or getting irradiated to death.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go,” Hancock said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You heard the part about the drowning, right?” asked Erica. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Sunshine. Don’t worry—I’ll just get the lay of the land. I ain’t gonna stay down there too long. But I’m the only one who can get in the water without getting hurt. In fact, it’ll feel pretty good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about Valentine?” MacCready asked. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t need to breathe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d be worried about him rusting up,” said Sturges. “Otherwise yeah, he’d be a great choice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about power armor?” asked Erica. “I used that when we went out to the Glowing Sea…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll sink,” Sturges replied. “Those suits are heavy and they ain’t designed for water. So yeah, you’ll be safe from the rads, but you’ll be stuck down there. It don’t look like the entrance is on the floor of the river, either. I’m guessing an old sewer line. So you’ll just sink right past it and miss it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erica huffed a little. It was clear that she didn’t like the idea of Hancock diving into the river, but there didn’t seem to be any other option. She finally sighed. “Okay then. John, we can head over to the river today and do some initial exploration. Preston, get the word out to the Minutemen to be ready…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At a minute’s notice,” Preston said with a grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, something like that, anyway. We’ll need to find Deacon and have him alert the Railroad. I do want to get as many synths out safely as possible. I think between all of us, we can…” She was interrupted by yet another clatter on the staircase. “Jesus Christ, what </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, it was Fahrenheit who burst in, her face so pale that the burn on her cheek—along with every freckle—clearly stood out. Her cheeks were stained with tears, and her eyes were wide and horrified. Hancock immediately grabbed her and pulled her in for a hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fahr! What’s going on? What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the Brotherhood! They— they attacked…” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready, Preston, and Sturges all ran to the window to look… but then turned back to Hancock, their faces confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything looks quiet, boss,” said MacCready. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No…” Fahrenheit said, raising her head. “Not here. They didn’t attack here…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fahr,” Erica said, placing a hand on her stepdaughter’s arm. “Where did they attack?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Slog! They attacked the Slog!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock looked up, his face grim, and his eyes met Erica’s. His voice was cold and angry. “Those motherfuckers…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erica’s lips tightened to the point where they nearly disappeared. “Let’s go. The goddamn Institute can wait for now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Preston had radioed ahead, and the same group of Minutemen from the neighboring settlements of County Crossing, Finch Farm, and Greentop Nursery who had helped with the safe retrieval of Danse were quickly on alert and making their way to the Slog to fight back against the Brotherhood. Other settlements that weren’t quite as close by, such as Taffington Boathouse and Coastal Cottage, were placed on alert in case further help was needed. All the settlements with artillery were also placed on standby, in case the time had come to blow that damn blimp out of the sky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Goodneighbor party made their way north as quickly as they could, Hancock running over everything in his mind as best he could, trying to make sure that every t was crossed, and every i dotted. The small group of Minutemen stationed in Goodneighbor led the way with Preston and Sturges, followed by Hancock, Erica, MacCready, Valentine, Deacon, and Fahr. Danse and Haylen brought up the rear, laser rifles at the ready. Hancock was prepared to deploy them if needed, but since they were dealing with the Brotherhood—the organization to which both had been formerly loyal—he preferred to hold off if at all possible. While he didn’t think it was likely they’d turn back to the Brotherhood (especially since Danse had “shoot on sight” orders against him), he still thought it better to be cautious. Just in case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The party was forced to take a short break at the halfway point. While most of Finch Farm’s fighters had already gone ahead, the settlers who remained provided the party with fresh food and water. MacCready in particular needed a break. As much as his injuries had healed, the cross-country jog was taking it out of him. He was trying to hide the fact that he was in pain, but Hancock knew MacCready well, and hell—the way the kid was limping, you’d have to be blind not to figure it out. To save MacCready’s dignity, he claimed that he and Erica were the ones who needed the break. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While everyone sat for a minute and chugged down some clean water, he walked over to the edge of the lake and lit a cigarette, staring north across the water. Maybe it was his imagination, but he did think he saw smoke rising on the horizon. Of course, it could also be coming from that goddamn foundry, about halfway between the settlement and the farm. No matter how many times that place got cleaned out, new raiders always seemed to find and claim the place again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes narrowed, and his damaged lips curled into an angry frown. The Slog! It was a peaceful settlement, a farm. They grew tarberries in an old swimming pool, and raised a ton of fresh produce. They’d been at it long before the other settlements in the area came into being, and used to trade regularly with Bunker Hill, distributing their produce around the Commonwealth. Now, with so many other settlements springing up and the trade routes established by Preston flourishing, the small ghoul-run settlement had turned into a thriving market of its own. Hancock was in awe at the work Wiseman and his small crew had accomplished—especially in light of the anti-ghoul sentiment that was still so predominant in the ‘Wealth. He wondered with a cold grin how many of the upper stand assholes in Diamond City knew that their mutfruit jam and tarberry wine actually came from the hands of ghouls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While attacking the Slog could be considered a tactical mov, given their importance to the Commonwealth’s food supply and economy, there were other farms—closer farms—that the Brotherhood could have chosen to attack who were also heavy producers. Warwick, for example. Or Nordhagen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, Hancock knew exactly why the Slog had been targeted, and he gritted his teeth in anger. It was because the settlement was almost entirely ghouls. A few regular humans lived there, those who had no problem with ghouls and wanted to be a part of the commune-like atmosphere. He thought he had recalled hearing that Holly’s new beau was a human. But the vast majority were ghouls, ghouls gathered by Wiseman in the days after the Diamond City purge, ghouls seeking a better life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought sometimes about the difference between his and Wiseman’s goals. They’d known each other in Diamond City, of course, although Hancock still had smooth skin in those days. Wiseman had tended the fields in the outfield, out by the wall. He truly had a green thumb and could coax produce from a plant that looked like it was on its last legs. It was ridiculous, thought Hancock, that the city had been so devoted to ghoul hatred that it was willing to throw out a master gardener like Wiseman, shooting themselves in the foot. Since he’d left around the same time and hadn’t been back, he didn’t know what had become of those fields, but he’d heard rumors that the plants didn’t fare quite so well anymore, making Diamond City even more reliant on trade to survive—and, ironically, produce from the Slog. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, the ghouls had split off, some following the hotheaded former John McDonough into the streets and, eventually, Goodneighbor, and others following the older, calmer Wiseman to the former public swimming pool that was now the Slog. And some had simply disappeared into the Boston darkness, never to be seen again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their approaches had been different, but both had contributed to the survival of the ghouls, and while Hancock thought the Slog too quiet and boring for his tastes, he still respected Wiseman greatly. The idea that he and his gang were in trouble was almost too much to stand and he was itching to get back on the road and lend his shotgun to the fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard footsteps behind him and turned around. When he saw who it was, his hairless brows raised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Danse.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mayor.” The former Paladin sighed. “I’m… sorry for the trouble the Brotherhood is causing you and your… people.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ain’t your fault, brother. I know you don’t got anything to do with this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In a way I do, though,” Danse said. “If it weren’t for you guys helping me escape, Maxson would be focused on the Institute instead of this petty revenge. I know he’s targeting the Slog because they’re ghouls. He’s trying to punish you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock dropped his cigarette and crushed it beneath the heel of his shoe. “Yeah, I kinda figured. Still, I ain’t blaming you. This is on him. And if he ain’t there now? If he sent his lackeys to do his dirty work? I’m taking the fight to him on that fucking blimp.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Danse looked down at the ground. “I… I don’t know if I can join you in that fight. There’s too many people I care about on the Prydwen, even if they would shoot me the moment they see me. I can’t shoot them back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock looked at him in wonder. “How’s that possible? After how they’ve treated you? After what they think of you now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were a Brotherhood,” Danse said with a shrug. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>The</span>
  </em>
  <span> Brotherhood. I’ve saved their lives and they’ve saved mine. And what are you going to do about the Squires?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll figure something out,” Hancock replied. “Erica would string me up by the balls if I let any harm come to those kids, even if they are being trained to be little fascists.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Danse nods. “I understand you’ll do what you need to do. Just… don’t ask me for help.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Understood, my man.” Hancock clapped him on his rather large shoulder, and the two of them headed back to the small group.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes later, they were back on the road. The pace picked up, and the miles flew by. As they got closer, the smoke became clearer, and when they skirted around the foundry, there was no question: It was coming from the Slog. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Hancock kicked aside a pile of burnt rubble, dreading what he would find beneath it. His stomach churned with guilt and anger. </p><p>The concrete building was all that still stood of this once-thriving settlement. The group from Goodneighbor had missed the firefight, and the Brotherhood had left already. There was no looting done by the soldiers, no claiming of the land or its resources. The only goal had been terror and destruction, and it made Hancock sick. </p><p><em> The Slog! </em> Nobody here had ever done anything to hurt anyone—the only crime they had committed had been being ghouls… and friends to Hancock and to Goodneighbor. And when it came to sending a message, to ensuring that message was heard loud and clear, the Slog had been an easy target. </p><p>Hancock’s foot struck something hard and unforgiving. He reached down and gently brushed aside the debris to reveal the sunny yellow paint of a Giddyup Buttercup toy. He grimaced, knowing the sentimental value this toy held to Arlen Glass, a kindly, rather sad ghoul who made his home here. </p><p>Sighing, he stood back up again. He knew he had to assess the damage, provide comfort to the survivors—and plan their next move—but he didn’t really want to know exactly how bad the situation was. When they’d approached, he’d seen Wiseman, bent over, tending to someone, so he knew that the leader of the settlement was okay… at least, okay enough to help someone else… but he didn’t know anyone else’s status. </p><p>And the truth was, he was afraid to find out. </p><p>If it weren’t for him, this settlement never would have had a target on it. Everyone would be fine, and he wouldn’t be standing here staring at the peeling paint beneath this pile of rubble, feeling almost as nauseated as if it were Arlen himself that he had found. He slowly raised his eyes, scanning the movement over by the pool. He quickly spotted Erica, who was helping a ghoul, bandaging a wound. Preston was pulling apart the burnt remains of a small shack, apparently looking for survivors… or perhaps victims. </p><p>Danse stood off to the side, helmetless, his mouth drawn in a grimace, face white as a sheet. Hancock recognized the familiar look of guilt and shame and felt a connection to the former Paladin that he hadn’t before. This wasn’t Danse’s fault, of course not. But still… he knew all too well the deep, wracking guilt that took over a person when just their presence alone was the catalyst for another’s misery. Haylen was nearby, her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving with sobs. MacCready stood with an arm around her, silently smoking a cigarette. Even the mouthy mercenary knew full well that nothing he could say would make any of this better. </p><p>A few of the other Minutemen who had come with them from neighboring settlements helped with the rescue efforts, joining Preston to search the remains of the various trading stalls, the small homes. </p><p>As if Preston had felt Hancock’s eyes on him, he stood, looked in the ghoul’s direction, and walked over to him, his head down, each step slow and heavy. His duster was covered in soot, and his face was in shadow, making it impossible to read his face. As he approached, he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply. </p><p>“I failed them, John. The Minutemen failed them.” His voice cracked with emotion and sorrow. </p><p>“How can you say that, Preston?” Even as the words left his wrecked lips, he felt like it was a lie. He knew full damn well what the General was talking about. </p><p>“We promised them,” Preston cried, clenching a fist. “We made a deal that if they joined us, we’d be there at a minute’s notice, ready to serve and protect. They held up their side of the deal. They joined the supply lines, they’ve been providing all our settlements with fresh food. As the settlement grew, they sent people to fight and train. But when they needed us? When they were under attack? We were nowhere to be found!” </p><p>“It ain’t our fault, man!” Hancock said. “We got here as fast as we could!” </p><p>Preston closed his eyes and shook his head, his lips drawn down. “But the other settlements, John! County Crossing! Greentop! Finch fucking Farm! Where were they? They received the same alert we did… and they did <em> nothing</em>, John! <em> Nothing! </em> They could have been here in minutes—as promised!—but they weren’t. They sat there, on their asses, while their neighbors burned!” </p><p>Hancock stared at the ground, his eyes squeezed shut, as Preston spelled out this obvious horror that he had missed. He was absolutely right. Where the fuck was the contingent from the neighboring farms? They’d been benefiting from the generosity of the Slog for months now… but in the end, they were just ghouls. Apparently not worth saving. His hands clenched in rage, and his brain burned red. He wanted to storm off, run away, hide… perhaps kill something.</p><p><em> Easy there, John. Not a good time to lose your shit. The Slog needs you. </em> Erica <em> needs you. Your bender days are over.  </em></p><p>“How bad is it?” he finally growled beneath clenched teeth. “I… I’ve been afraid to really look.” </p><p>The Minuteman took a deep drag on his cigarette, and the words drifted out slowly, along with the smoke, low and sad. “It’s… real bad, John. Everything except that concrete building is a total loss. The fields have been destroyed. The pool is filled with soot and other debris, wrecking the crop.”</p><p>Hancock shook his head. “But the people, Preston. What about the people? All of that shit can be rebuilt. <em> What about my goddamn people?</em>” His voice rose in rage and fear, and a few of the others looked up and toward the two. Erica in particular didn’t lower her head again until he gave her a little wave to signal that he was okay, although he felt anything but. “I don’t care about the fucking buildings or the fucking crops, Preston.” </p><p>“I know, and… I wasn’t trying to imply that that’s what’s important here.” He scrubbed a shaking hand against his eyes, wiping the tears that were starting to fall, smearing them across his face. Hancock’s heart sank. “Wiseman is okay. He’s burned and took a bullet to his shoulder, but he’s patched up and doing alright. Holly is… physically okay. That guy she’s with? The human? He’s gone. They didn’t just kill him, John. They… hung him up, with a sign around his neck. It said, ‘Ghoul fucker.’” Preston’s eyes drifted toward Erica, the implication clear. “John, if they ever get a hold of Erica….” </p><p>He nodded, shuddering at the horrifying thought. “Don’t worry,” he growled. “They won’t.” He lit his own cigarette. “You… you took him down, right?” </p><p>“Of course.” Preston’s voice was filled with grief. “He’s over with… the rest of them… so we can bury them.” </p><p>Hancock couldn’t bear to ask, so he covered his eyes with one hand, while gesturing with the other for Preston to let him have it. </p><p>“Jones is gone. Deirdre too.” </p><p>Hancock shook his head and groaned, softly. </p><p>“Arlen is missing. We can’t find him, but we also don’t have a body. That’s… why we’ve been digging through all the shacks. They already checked in here, but there’s no sign of him.” </p><p>“Some of the Brotherhood weapons… those laser pistols. They can… not leave a body. If you hit someone just right.” </p><p>Preston nodded. “Yeah, we’re looking for suspicious ash. It… looks different from normal wood ash, you know? But… even if we did find some… there’s no way of knowing who it is.” </p><p>Hancock sighed. “Fucking hell, Preston.” </p><p>“I know, man.” His voice cracked again and he wiped his face once more. </p><p>Hancock wished once again that he could cry. It was physically painful to not be able to cry when he was filled with so much sorrow and regret. </p><p>“They’re gonna pay, Preston. This… this won’t stand. That fucking blimp is going down, kids or no kids.” His voice was low, dangerous. </p><p>“It won’t bring them back, John. We can’t change anything. This is Quincy all over again. The betrayal. The unnecessary deaths.”</p><p>“No. They ain’t gonna get away with this. Not on my fucking watch. That tyrant ain’t taking over <em> my Commonwealth!</em>” His voice rose into a tortured scream, and this time Erica did come over. She was wiping her hands on a towel, but there was no hiding the fact that it was blood that she was wiping away. Her mouth was pulled tight with sorrow, and her forehead was creased with tension. </p><p>“John….” There were no other words to be said as they each wrapped their arms around the other and clung to them. The tears she’d clearly been holding back finally fell, enough for both of them.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As the sun slowly sank in the west, bathing the ruined settlement in a haze of pink and purple, the survivors gathered, one by one, in the concrete building that still stood. This had been their gathering place, where they all came together to share communal meals, have a drink, pass around some Jet, play cards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock looked around, pausing to reflect on each of their faces. There was no shock, no confusion, just a sad resignation. This is how things had been for them for the last 200 years—you’d scrap some kind of life together, maybe one that included other people, make friends, start to think things were about to get better… and then the inevitable raiders, gunners, yao guai, deathclaw, hell, even fucking molerat pack, would swoop in and destroy everything that had taken years to build. There was seemingly no escaping it. It wasn’t a history that he shared, and while their faces might look the same, in this moment he didn’t feel like he had the right to call himself a ghoul. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erica sat down next to him with a bowl of soup for each of them. Nothing was said. Everyone sat in silence, eating, and then one by one they disappeared into the former locker rooms, now living spaces, to think their own lonely thoughts and quietly mourn those who had been lost. Hancock’s eyes followed Holly as she moved toward a bed in a daze. Wiseman, who had been right behind her, gently touched her arm before pulling her into a compassionate embrace, and soon the sound of raking sobs filled the air. He quickly pulled his gaze away from the grieving ghoul and back to his own wife’s pale, drawn face. Her eyes had a faraway look as she simply stared in silence at some point on the wall, lost in her own thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sunshine....” He placed his hand over hers and gave it the softest squeeze possible, only wanting her to know that he was here and that he loved her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes closed and another tear slipped down her cheek. As he had observed when they had first met, she was not a “tidy” sort of cryer… her cheeks were red and splotchy, her eyes swollen… but she was still beautiful, and his heart ached for her own grief. He also had a good idea of the guilt and sorrow that were currently wracking her. He didn’t hold her accountable for this, of course he didn’t. Nobody would! But even so, he knew almost exactly what she was thinking—that if she hadn’t angered the Brotherhood, they wouldn’t have retaliated in this horrific, heartbreaking way. There was no point in saying that she wasn’t at fault, even when she so clearly wasn’t. She’d never believe it. So instead he wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to him, holding her as she quietly cried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Preston’s voice was low and quiet when he spoke. “I’m getting reports from the settlements along the flight path. The vertibirds returned directly to the Prydwen. We have runners who tracked the entire flight to ensure it was the same ‘birds. This wasn’t a rogue event. These orders must have come directly from Maxson.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course they did,” Hancock growled. “That racist fuck has been dying to spill ghoul blood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what was the goal?” asked Valentine. “What if this is just a distraction, and Maxson is blowing his way into the Institute right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Preston shook his head. “We’d know. I have too many people keeping too many eyes on the sky and the roads. Other than the vertibirds and the other regular patrols they make, there hasn’t been any movement from the Brotherhood.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ain’t sitting here and just letting them walk away from this,” Hancock said, swallowing down the fury that was beginning to rise again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, John, but the kids…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Erica shook her head slowly. “No. They’ve made their choice. They fired the first shot, destroyed a peaceful settlement, killed people who had never harmed them in any way. And they also made the choice to bring children aboard a weapon of war. This has shielded them from repercussions for long enough. It’s… killing me to say this right now, but I don’t see any other option. It’s time to go on the offensive against the Brotherhood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Preston’s eyes were filled with sorrow. “Is there any way to evacuate the children? Any way at all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I presume we’re using the Minutemen artillery, correct?” asked Valentine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d rather not sacrifice any more people than we absolutely have to,” said Erica. “That would be the safest route for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we rig up a signal that will hijack theirs, warn them that an attack is pending—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And give them time to retaliate?” Hancock interrupted. “Fuck that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it wouldn’t be a long warning,” Nick said. “Barely minutes. Long enough for them to decide their priorities. Evacuate the children or try to mount an attack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what they’re going to choose,” Preston replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do know,” replied the synth, lighting up a cigarette, the pale, synthetic skin of his face reflecting back the glow of the flame. “But it’s their choice. We gave them the option.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, if we know, aren’t we still a party to it?” the Minuteman asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Preston.” Erica’s voice didn’t need to be raised to get everyone’s attention. “It’s one more thing that’s going to keep me awake at night. But what’s one more at this point? This can’t go on. Which settlement will be next? There’s ghouls and synths at practically every single settlement. And Goodneighbor is a massive target. I hate this as much as anyone else—it’s every ethics question that was thrown in front of us in law school, that motherfucking trolley problem on the most horrific scale. But the answer is clear, no matter how painful it might be. If the blimp doesn’t come down, so many more… and that includes more children… will die. We’ll give them the chance to do the right thing. When they choose not to take it… that’s on them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Preston’s head sank in a slow nod of, if not approval, acceptance. “I know. Decisions like this… this is why I never wanted to be General.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the price of leading,” Hancock said. “Every decision ain’t gonna be popular. Sometimes no good choice exists. We gotta do the best we can to protect as many as possible of the people who are counting on us. Your settlements might be autonomously run—and we still need to address the problem of them not coming to the rescue—but you’re still the leader, and these people are still under your protection.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Preston looked up again, his dark eyes swam with tears. He removed his hat for a moment to give his head a quick scratch, and even in the dim light it was easy to see the silver in his hair that hadn’t been there a few months back. New lines crossed the skin of his face, from the furrow of concern that had formed between his eyebrows to the creases in the corner of his mouth and eyes. The weight of his responsibility was heavy on him, and it showed. “This isn’t… I’m not made for this. I’m a follower, John. I’m no leader.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the best kind of leader,” Hancock replied. “The one who never wanted the power in the first place. You take that responsibility seriously and every decision agonizes you. That’s how it should be. When a leader starts making decisions from ego, without any regard for how they’re going to affect their people and no longer sees the people as individuals… that’s when you get fuckers like Maxson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you wanted that power,” said Preston. “Are you saying you’re not a good leader?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah,” Hancock said, shaking his head. “I didn’t want that power. I took up the mantle because no one else could. We were all too terrorized by that bastard Vic. I didn’t seek out the position, but when I had to, I fucking stepped up. I like to think I rose to the occasion, but I still fuck up on the regular. Hell, the first time I met Sunshine here, I stabbed some asshole right in front of her. It wasn’t exactly the best introduction, and it was shit leadership. But I’m always willing to listen, to do better. That’s why you’re all here, ain’t it? I know when I’m over my fucking head and need help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone was quiet for a moment, lost in their own thoughts, planning, working out what their own roles would be in the upcoming fight. Finally Erica spoke. “We should get some sleep tonight, head out in the morning. The Castle should be the rendezvous point. We can get the message out from there and direct the settlements.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agreed,” said Preston. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about the Slog?” It was the first time MacCready had spoken. It was surprising for the mercenary to stay quiet for so long, a sure sign of how deeply the tragedy here had affected him. He knew these folks well, and had even briefly been an item with the lost Dierdre. “We can’t just leave them in this mess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock considered the question. He was in complete agreement with the kid, but this was also an all-hands-on-deck situation, and he hated to leave good fighters behind. “Danse and Haylen should stay here. I trust them… but this is their former family we’re going against. I’d rather not force them into a fight where they might hesitate. Plus, they’re gonna have a huge target on their back. Once word spreads that we’re attacking the Prydwen, we should expect some retaliation, most likely at the Castle, since we’re all there. I’d rather keep ‘em somewhere safe.” He looked around, recognizing the irony in calling the ruined settlement safe. “I doubt they’ll be back here,” he said bitterly. “Far as they’re concerned, their work here is done.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>MacCready looked torn. “I don’t want to leave Haylen behind, Hancock. Should I stay here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock lifted his hat with a sigh, scratching his scarred, bald head. “I’d like to have you at the fight,” he said, “and I know you know that. But it’ll be a long haul tomorrow and you’re still limping a bit. Yeah, probably best if you stay back here. But I’ll want you for the Institute assault.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, boss,” MacCready replied with a smile that more closely resembled a grimace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And while you’re here?” Hancock continued. “See if you can track down Arlen. I wanna make sure that guy is safe. He’s been through enough.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then it’s settled?” asked Nick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hancock nodded. “It is. We leave at dawn for the Castle. That fucking blimp comes down tomorrow, come hell or high water.”</span>
</p>
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